A lady of the Imhoff family, being left a widow in her youth, could in no way resign herself to God’s will, remained sunk in grief and attended every service at St. Laurence in the vain hope of obtaining relief by prayer. Even in the coldest winter season she was always to be seen at early mass. One All Saint’s Eve she was awakened from her first sleep by the sound of the church-bells. The moon was still shining, but the lady thought it was the first break of day, and, rising from her bed, wrapped herself in a thick cloak and hastened across the square to the church. Its doors stood wide open, and an unusually large congregation was already assembled. Kneeling in her accustomed place, she saw that the priest was already bending before the altar, and the candles burnt with so strange a light that the faces of her fellow-worshippers appeared ghastly pale. And when the priest turned she recognized him as one who had died and been buried during the past year. She glanced right and left with terrified eyes, and on all sides were persons she had once known but who were no longer living. As she sank back in her chair in mortal dismay, there glided close to her an old friend whose death she had recently mourned and whose body she had helped to clothe in the garments of the grave. In faint, far-away tones the friend whispered in her ear: “Beloved Clara, as soon as the bell rings for the elevation of the Host fly thou quickly from the church, or Death will chastise thee for disturbing by thy presence the souls of the dead.” And having uttered these words, the form vanished from her side, and Widow Clara fled towards the door as fast as her trembling limbs could carry her. She heard a dreadful rustling and clattering behind; it seemed as though the whole ghostly company were in full pursuit at her heels. As she hurried through the churchyard she saw that all the graves were gaping, and fell fainting on her own threshold. There she was found by her attendants, who, alarmed by hearing her rise and go out in the middle of the night, were coming to seek her just as the church-bell struck one. The moon had gone down, and the deepest stillness reigned in the cathedral precincts. The next day the cloak, which had slipped from the lady’s shoulders in her terrified flight, was found torn into tiny fragments and scattered among the gravestones. THE TORRE DEL ORO EDMUNDO DE AMICIS